Zeke had already taught Arthur and Harold to run the machine, but Mr. Westabrook’s orders against unlicensed persons driving it, were strict. For a moment it looked as though the ocean-picnic must be given up.
“I think,” Maida faltered, “if I ask my father to lend us Botkins and the big car, he’d do it.”
Mrs. Dore shook her head. “I wouldn’t like to have you do that, Maida,” she said. “Your father has given us everything that he thinks necessary for this household.” She added gratefully, “And more than any of us had ever had in our lives before. I should certainly not like you to ask a single thing more of him.”
Again gloom descended on the Big Six. And then hope showed her bright face again.
“Ah’ll tell you what Ah’ll do,” Floribel, who was waiting on table, broke in. “Zeke and Ah’ve wanted fo’ a long time to see the big ocean. Now eff yo’ll let the lil’ children go on dat pic-a-nic, Mis’ Dore, Zeke and Ah’ll go with them and tak’ the best of care of them.”
“Oh would you, Floribel?” Rosie asked.
“Well, in that case,” Mrs. Dore decided thoughtfully, “I don’t see why you shouldn’t all go.”
Madness at once broke out in both Sixes, Little and Big. Laura, Maida and Rosie leaped to their feet and danced about the room. The little children beat on the table with their spoons and the three boys indulged in ear-splitting whistles.
The next Thursday, Floribel, Zeke, the Little Six and the lunch, packed somehow into the machine, the Big Six on their bicycles, streaming ahead like couriers, started off for the beach.